


Baths Aren't Usually Tinted with Blood

by ASimpleArchivist



Series: The Many, Varying Experiences of Don G and His Human [1]
Category: Mafiatale - Fandom, Mobtale, The Kitten and the Don AU, Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Alternate Universe - Mobtale, Alternate Universe - mafiatale, And there's a couple of really bad puns, Can be counted as a Reader Insert?, EXTREMELY self-indulgent, F/M, Gaster!Sans - Freeform, Hurt/Comfort, I might add more tags later, I was feeling a bit bad when I wrote this so, Mentions of Violence, Might change it later, Minor Angst, Reader Is Not Frisk, Reader-Insert, Self-insert pretty much, Some Fluff, Sort of? - Freeform, also i suck at titles, how do tags work, minor profanity, yeah - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-06
Updated: 2016-08-06
Packaged: 2018-07-29 19:33:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7696627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ASimpleArchivist/pseuds/ASimpleArchivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“This won’t be the last time this happens, will it?”<br/>He sighed, pulling her against him just a tad tighter. He wished he could lie, say that yes, it would never, ever happen again - he would keep her safe, out of harm’s way for ever- but it would be just that: a lie. Even he couldn’t guarantee something as unsure as that.<br/>“No, it won’t.” He hunched a little, curling around her. How small she was, compared to him. “But I’ll do my best to insure that it won’t be any time soon.”</p>
<p>Basically: When Don G and his assistant go to negotiate with a smaller mafia clan in a restaurant of their territory, he had expected an ambush. It had been extremely likely. But he still didn't like the effect it was having on His Human. So, some good old TLC and comfort is required.</p>
<p>(Based off of the "Kitten and the Don" AU from tumblr, created by junkpilestuff and nyublackneko. Details within.<br/>Gaster!Sans belongs to borurou, Mafiatale to nyublackneko [I think].)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Baths Aren't Usually Tinted with Blood

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all! Thank you for dropping by to view my meager work! I must admit I'm brand new to AO3 - I'm still adjusting myself to its format and everything, so please be patient. Also, comment if you happen to see any grammatical mistakes, and I'll do my best to correct them as soon as possible.  
> As for this particular one-shot: as said in the summary, it is based off of and inspired by the "Kitten and the Don" AU, but there are minor differences, the main one being that "Kitten" (adult Frisk) never came into the picture. Instead, the unnamed character has become his assistant and advisor, but there's also quite the romance going on behind the scenes.  
> I have a couple of more one-shots lined up for this series, so if you want to see more you're in luck. I don't plan on it becoming a full story, though, but it might develop one day - I'll keep the possibility open. Also, if you have any suggestions for possible one-shots, please hit me up in the comments! I'd be glad to hear them!  
> Please, enjoy! :D

The bathroom door slammed open and she stumbled in, hand clamped firmly over her mouth as she flung off her shoes and staggered into the bathtub, twisting the knob to the hottest temperature. Scalding water gushed from the faucet but the heat was paid no mind as she all but ripped open her loosely buttoned shirt and began scrubbing the stained skin. Her small gasps of unconscious pain were all that was heard as she scrubbed the dried blood from her skin, ignoring how her clothes were quickly becoming soaked and how her nerves were screeching in face of the heat. Strands of hair falling out of her bun, she finished her frantic cleaning of her stomach and chest and moved up to her face, the splatters soon dying the rushing water pink as it was sucked down the drain.

G moved into the doorway, his hat gone, having slipped off his head and his tie ripped. He watched in calm neutrality as his human gasped and scrubbed, her shoulders shaking and hands trembling.  
It was his fault. He should’ve known - should’ve seen it coming. Those monsters had never been entirely trustworthy - he should’ve suspected something was up when the small mob leader had invited him and his assistant to a restaurant in their territory for a “negotiation.”

But Don G was a high head, a pricy one at that, and the temptation of offing him for the substantial reward must’ve been much too great.

He should’ve known. He should’ve left her with her cousin for the evening, or in the safety of his apartment. It would’ve been so much better, for him and her.

But that was not what happened. He’d dropped his guard for just a moment, and look what it had amounted to.

He was lucky she hadn’t been killed.

With a quiet, careworn sigh, he dropped his hands from his trouser pockets and stepped into the bathroom. She must’ve been too involved in her self-panic to notice him because she kept clawing at her reddened skin, her eyes squeezed shut and mouth drawn into a thin line.

It was only when he crouched, reached down and grasped her hands that her eyes snapped open. She jerked away, but he held fast, and her eyes soon registered that it was him and not one of the ones that had tried to hurt her.  
Her lips parted in a breathless sob and tears welled up in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall, blinking rapidly and gritting her teeth.

“You’re going to rub yourself raw if you keep this up,” he murmured, clasping both her hands in one of his and using the other to caress her jaw. Her eyes fell closed, her brows drawn, her mouth still twisted in a saddened grimace.

“I - I can’t get it off,” she whispered hoarsely, twisting her hands from his gentle grip and clutching at his fingers with one, clawing at his stained dress shirt with the other. “The blood,” she whispered. “I can’t get the b-blood off.”

“You’ve got it all, darling,” he said, lacing their fingers together. “Let’s get these dirty clothes off of you, yeah?”

She nodded wordlessly, eyes still clamped shut, and he sighed softly before setting to work. He slid the button-up from her shoulders and gently stood, guiding her to her feet. Her knees wobbled but did not give. With her free hand, she slipped the waistband of her skirt down her hips and he helped, pulling it free of her ankles after she stepped out of it.

He left her undergarments be, for reasons obvious to the both of them, and cradled her head beneath his scarred mandible, running his fingertips through the hair on her scalp. She pulled away a little to look up at him, her eyes melancholy as she cupped his cheekbone. Her thumb traced the smooth bone, following the crack that led to his teeth and following the line of his chin.

“You’re filthy,” she said, and he didn’t doubt her a bit.

Wordlessly, he pulled his ruined tie from his neck and thumbed the silken material longingly as she pushed at his unbuttoned suit jacket. “This was one of my favorite ties,” he mourned, and she rolled her eyes a little as she finally managed to push the thick wool off his shoulders.

“Should’ve kept that in mind before we were caught in an attempted assassination,” she said, her voice attempting to be haughty but sounding far, far to hollow. He winced a little.

“I’m sorry,” he said as she fiddled with the buttons of his dress shirt. “I shouldn’t have gotten you involved.”

“Normally I would tell you that I’m okay, but that would be lying.” She sighed hollowly, expression downhearted. “But I’m glad I ended up there with you.”

“Why?” he asked, surprised out of his guilt. “You - you could’ve gotten - killed, or worse, or-”

“You would’ve been dusted, had I not been there,” she said, raising a thin brow. “They wouldn’t have hesitated in killing you as soon as you walked in the door. But me, being human, prevented that. They’re scared of me, you know. Having such a powerful Soul does have its advantages, at times…” She sighed dejectedly, reaching the last button right beneath his collarbone and tugging at the fine fabric to expose his scratched sternum. “Though it would’ve been nice if it had prevented the entire thing in the first place.”

He grasped her hands gently, looking down into her eyes with his one good one. “It doesn’t make the fact that I put you in danger any better,” he said, sounding almost scolding, but she shrugged halfheartedly, not meeting his gaze.

A long moment passed and he finally sighed, releasing her hands and shrugging off his shirt, tossing it into the hamper with the rest of his bloodied clothes. As he toed off his dress shoes (which were miraculously untouched by blood or mud - he hadn’t a clue how), she poked one of his ribs. “Hey.”

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye sockets. “Hmm?”

“Why would a relationship between two blood cells not work out?”

“Don’t know,” he mumbled, not paying much mind as he bent over to tug the thick socks from his feet. “Why?”

“Because it would all be in vein.”

A snort escaped him before he could stifle it and she chortled under her breath.

“At least I know that encounter didn’t kill your sense of humor,” he hummed, tugging his belt from his belt loops and hanging it over the towel rack.

“If that was a pun it was in very poor taste,” she said wryly, and he stepped into the water, chuckling. It wasn’t as hot as it had been minutes ago but still very nice. If he had muscles, it probably would’ve liquefied them.

He stepped around her and sank into the floor of the tub, letting out a long breath and stretching out his long legs around hers. She breathed out a chuckle and crouched, patting at the inside of his knee so she could sit between his legs, her back facing him. She stretched her arms far above her head, tilting her head back and flexing her fingers. (The resulting cricks sounding from her joints most definitely did not comfort him in light of the fact that she really was a skeleton, too, just squishier - no, it definitely did not. Not at all.)

Smirking a little, he put a hand on her shoulder and pulled her back against his chest, pressing a mock kiss to her neck. She squeaked at the action, shivering a little and putting her hand on his.

He reached over her thigh and popped the stopper into the drain, letting the water swirl around their legs. Steam rose in wisps and he ran his fingertips through the hair on her scalp. When he reached her bun, he made deft work of plucking out the pins and brushed his phalanges through the silky locks until it was all hanging in a thick curtain from her cranium. She let out a soft sound as he tucked her head under his jaw again, pressing his nasal bone into her scalp and inhaling deeply.

The sharp, ashy scent of unfamiliar brand cigar smoke filled his skull and he scowled against her hair. She smelled like that damn monster’s cigars. Cheap cigars, poorly made and utterly nasty. Just like the monster himself, G reflected. He didn’t want her to smell like them. He wanted her to smell like her.

So it was when she leaned forward to turn the knob and shut off the water flow that he reached to the three-tiered shelf and grabbed the matching bottles of scented soap she’d bought when he’d taken her on a trip to a bigger city many, many miles away from Ebott. He’d ended up falling in love with the scent and purchased refills whenever the soap got too close to the bottom of the delicate glass cylinders. If she noticed, she never commented. (She was always finicky about him buying things for her, for some reason. He appointed it as one of her weird human traits.)

He tapped her on the shoulder, shifting so he sat on his legs and gently turned her to dip her head towards him. It took a bit of effort on his part to get her scalp appropriately wet (she ended up having to help him, anyway - having holes in your palms doesn’t exactly account for being able to cup water well) but when he lathered her cranium with the silvery purple fluid and began massaging the soap into her hair he saw her shoulders relax, her spine loosening until her forehead resting in the small crevice between his knees.

He let out a soft breath, smiling a little and taking his time. Combing the suds out of her hair took a little more time than expected, but thoroughness was key as he rinsed, scrubbed, and repeated.

Finally, he poked her lightly and she sat up, turning her back to him and attempting to comb her hair down to fall properly. He lathered his fingers with the conditioner and nudged her hands away, taking up the job and ensuring there wasn’t a tangle to be had. He rinsed it a couple times, then wrapped his arms around her shoulders and pressed his teeth to the side of her neck. She sighed softly, leaning her head back against his shoulder and clasping her hands around his. He ran his thumbs over the visible metacarpals in her hands, closing his eyes.

There was a long moment of silent before her voice vibrated against his mouth.

“G,” she murmured, “this won’t be the last time this happens, will it?”

He sighed, pulling her against him just a tad tighter. He wished he could lie, say that yes, it would never, ever happen again - he would keep her safe, out of harm’s way for ever- but it would be just that: a lie. Even he couldn’t guarantee something as unsure as that.

“No, it won’t.” He hunched a little, curling around her. How small she was, compared to him. “But I’ll do my best to insure that it won’t be any time soon.”

She let out a breath, probably relieved, and eased away from him before standing slowly. Dripping and wounded, she turned and placed a hand on his cracked skull, smiling down at him.

His human was known, if by nothing else, by her smile. G had had the privilege to see many of its varieties over the time they’d known each other - mirthful, delighted, and sympathetic; even quite a few falsified, careful, diplomatic ones - but none he had ever seen before even came close to the one she gazed down at him with.

The melancholy that had been in her eyes was no longer there, replaced with a tenderness he couldn’t quite place. Small, wet strands of hair framed her face, her expression soft and warm. The dimples in the corners of her smile seemed to bring a whole new feeling out in him - something powerful, something fierce - something very meek. It churned and blazed and clamped down on his Soul and he could only gaze up at his human in wonder. One might say he was in love.

“You ruined your pants,” she said, an amused quirk pulling at the corner of her smile. He didn’t need to see it to know the damage, no doubt there being watered bloodstains and soap suds on the soaked fabric.

“You’ve ruined me,” he said, the words slipping before he could even think them.

He had once told her that he couldn’t love her, when they first met - it would be too dangerous, and had not quite known what to do with her not so subtle adoration of him. But now, without a doubt, he was eating his words. Karma, in all her finest forms, was a bitch.

A very mischievous, insightful bitch.

She, apparently, didn’t take his words to heart. If anything, her smile brightened with a relief that one could only describe as whole-hearted.

“I love you, too,” she teased, and good stars, he didn’t know what to do with these…feelings. What she did to him, he’d only heard of in books and movies - he’d always chalked it up as romanticized, sugar-coated propaganda. Never in a million years would he have thought that this damned fluttery feeling was real.

He stood, reaching for a towel on the rack next to his belt and began rubbing her down, her smile never faltering as she closed her eyes in bliss.

Maybe being ruined by this human wasn’t such a bad thing.

After she stepped out of the rub and gave him a long, warm look, she disappeared out of the bathroom, turning towards his bedroom, and he had only half the mind to peel off his soaked trousers and stuff them into the sink to dry before hopping into a pair of worn sweatpants hanging off the edge of the hamper. 

He treaded silently down the darkened hall, the carpet cushioning his feet, and paused in the doorway. Seeing her curled up in his sheets, obviously in one of his t-shirts, made him feel…was he giddy?

G let out a defeated sigh and smiled softly, moving to slide beneath the sheets beside her, pulling her up against him and rearranging the sheets around them. She curled into him without prompting, tracing his sternum with the lightest of touches.

As he tucked her head under his chin for the third time that night, he gazed out of the floor-length windows on the wall to their right, the city lights sparkling and casting a dim glow across her form, tucked into his side in warm security. And as he combed her damp hair with his fingertips, he closed his eyes and smiled.

He wouldn’t ever trade anything that the Surface or Underground could ever offer in light of what he had in his arms right then and there.


End file.
